By Brian the Wise

We moveth slowly through the desert. Cool, dry air under a bright sun. Flockeths of sheep herded beneath the kedgeree tree. Every so oft, a flash of colour as wenches clad in burning orange wandereth past with bundles of dried dung upon their heads.

“Whereforeart thou going?” Thee asketh most politely and hope-eth for romance.

“To shag with Roger the Divine” they telleth.

Thee art more depressedeth.

Between Thy legs, the camel grumbleth again, taketh a few more steps and, once more, breaketh wind.

Thy male camel art in heat,. He art restive, slobbery, and complaineth continually. Lo, Thee doth feel a kinship with him. The two of us moveth together towardeth the setting sun. Lovelorn and flatulent, we art as one.

The sun set-eth quickly in the desert. The night cometh fast, the stars carpetting the darkness like a thousand neighbouring campfires. We singeth unto the stars and the camel foretold wondrous tales of great things.

We singeth three verses of "House of the Rising Sun".

We singeth all the Simon and Garfunkel tunes we knoweth.

We singeth a medley of hits from Bollywood movies.

We singeth country and western classics and we cry-eth unto our billy tea.

Thee pullethh Thy blanket over Thy head and dreameth wild dreams of snivelling sycophantia.

The camel groucheth at Thee again the next day.

Behold! Two old timers, we set off unto the dawn together.

The camel farts, unapologetically and I, Brian the Wise, doth gag.